Tuesday, June 10, 2008

more

sometimes I am, you know - a bitch.

I am moody, discontented and have a difficult time articulating what the hell is bugging me .... thus leaving the ones who love me confused and anxious.

I feel restless and move agitated limbs in denial of my inner demons which mutter and growl in the confines of my fettered emotions. I feel rage course along my veins like a toxic river of want, a bubbling cauldron of heat that burns like a highway into hell and stings me with its bite, thus tethering me to the knowledge that I am alive.

Rage I can deal with … anger is an old friend, dare I say even, much-loved, whose fetid breath I learned a very long time ago to tolerate and even enjoy.

For embracing anger – particularly self-directed anger - allows me the conceit of ignoring despair … and I don't do despair very well.. in fact, I refuse to and instead fan the embers which glow red hot at the bottom of the void where once a soul lived, eaten a long time ago by an anger and disllusionment so massive that only a black hole now pulsates negative energy into my body.There's no question that I am a genius at misdirection, both in terms of self-delusion and by deliberately misleading those who interact with me - I find myself endlessly fascinated by how much conversation, deliberations and revelations occur inside my mind - and how little is actually articulated.

There is a certain ironic humour in the fact that whenever the concept of D/s or M/s arises, the term "communication" is paramount. Communicate, communicate, communicate ... bleating like little lambs as if the formation of sentence and structure and thought will solve it all.

Yet, knowing this, I find myself unmotivated to change - which in itself, is somewhat worrisome - for the rational part of me knows that to continue to suppress emotions which potentially have a devastating effect on my life is ultimately self-defeating. I need to deal with issues - not suppress them, ignore them or beat them into submission!

But conversely, it seems to me that vomiting forth justifications, delusions and explanations does not usually solve a damn thing; in hindsight, revelation can really suck the big one. In fact, my experience has been in many cases that such disclosure inevitably brings disllusionment, angst and profound sorrow ....

So, for now anyways, I will savour the reality of rage and drink deep its bitter brew.